Covenant
by reinadefuego
Summary: In the beginning, they were just three people on a boat. Now, they live in his house for the most part and eat breakfast like normal people do, but in truth it's a little more complicated than that. OT3. Post-canon. Frank/Tarconi/Valentina. One-shot.


"Good morning, mademoiselle."

Tarconi's in a good mood this morning, Valentina thinks as she reaches for one of the madeleines still sitting warm in the baking pan. It's certainly an advantage, she supposes, having a Frenchman as her lover's lover. Whilst François doesn't live with them all the time, the days when they are together are the best ones. She bites into the cake then smiles as a cup of fresh Italian coffee is set down in front of her by Frank. Valentina didn't even notice him in the kitchen but apparently he's well ahead of them both.

Dressed in a fresh suit, Frank looks impeccable (and utterly fuckable, but that's a thought she's keeping to herself) this morning. He leans back against the counter, mug in hand, and stares blankly at the door that leads to the garage. God, Valentina thinks, tilting her head and looking up at Frank from her seat at the table, if they had just thirty minutes free, she would've stripped those clothes from him and bent him over the kitchen table, but they don't.

"Morning, Frank," she says, vying for his attention. After the last rebuild of the house, Frank became more pedantic than ever about the details. _Everything_ had to be in its original place, up to and including the roof line. "Tarconi made breakfast."

"Mm-hmm," he says into his coffee mug. Frank takes a sip and pushes off the counter, snatches one of the madeleines from the pan and heads for the door. He has work today, as he has every other day, but today is different. It's not something he can quantify any more than science can, and yet it's something he trusts more than his word.

"Frank." Tarconi's tone is commanding and finally, _finally_ he pays attention to them. It's the tone he uses in the bedroom too which is probably why it works so well. "Don't you have anything to say?"

Frank pauses mid-step and lifts his mug. "Thank you, Inspector."

Valentina gives François a look as if to say 'I think Frank is sick.' He's acting formal again and it's weird, or rather he's acting like Frank Martin, Transporter, and not Frank Martin, boneless jelly-legged fucktoy, as he normally does in the mornings.

"As much as I would love to stay, I have to get to work too," François says, resigning himself to another boring day in the police force. He kisses Valentina on the cheek and hugs her then takes off after Frank to the garage.

She sighs and finishes her coffee, drums her fingers on the table, and eventually realises the cars are yet to be started. That's more than a little odd given how much Frank enforces his rules. Valentina makes her way to the door of the garage and peers through the gap, notes how Frank is pressed up against the wall with his pants down around his ankles (his briefs are grey and highlight every curve of his ass), but stays on her side of the door.

"What's wrong, Frank?" François asks, and proceeds to massage his spine with his thumb. "You're not yourself today."

"It's nothing," Frank mutters, resting his head and arms against the wall. "I'm fine."

François raises an eyebrow but says nothing. He moves his hand to Frank's hip and idly strokes the exposed skin above his briefs, drawing out a low groan and a ' _fuck, Tarconi_ ' that sounds just as needy as Frank looks. "For once, I don't believe you."

"I have to get to work." He leans down, reaches for the hem of his pants, and promptly finds himself cornered. Valentina stands to his left with her arms crossed, and François still stands behind him. Frank fixes his pants and secures his belt then turns around. His erection is obvious and relief stands just inches away but it's not as important as the job. "Please, can we talk about this later?"

When Valentina proposed the idea after an extensive talk with both men, of all three being involved with one another and beginning a relationship, it hadn't been just for the sex. She cared for Frank, and François, but only two of them were a little more willing to be _open_ in every sense of the word than the third was.

"Later, then," Tarconi says, resigning himself to wait till tonight. He shifts his attention to Valentina, allowing Frank to walk to his car and fix the slight wrinkles in his pants. "If he tries to leave before I come home—"

She smiles as if the Devil himself just gave her free reign over Hell. "I'll cuff him to the bed."

"We _will_ talk about whatever this is tonight, Frank, whether you like it or not." One of the first rules they came up with was no secrets. Honesty and a willingness to talk and be open was important. If they were to live together, both as a triangle and a family, Frank needed to stop internalising his problems, and Valentina had to let her guard down. "See you tonight, Frank. Au revoir, Valentina."


End file.
